Controlling A Fever
by ToaXabineh
Summary: (No pairings, takes place before the movie, oneshot). Pitch, in all the centuries he'd been around, had never been given help. So when he was attacked by a few seasonals, he expected no one would come to his aid. Yet, to his surprise, someone does come to his rescue. A boy with wild white hair, shocking blue eyes and ice-cold hands, in fact.


**So this was just a little idea I had floating around in my head! It has no relation to any of my other ROTG stories/oneshots/arcs, its just a standalone oneshot!**

 **This oneshot has no pairings, and is meant only to be a friendship fic between Jack and Pitch! Because there just aren't enough Jack and Pitch friendship fics out there XD**

 **Disclaimer's on my prof.!**

 **Sorry if there's any spelling errors!**

 **Enjoy and review!**

* * *

Pitch Black could remember a time when fear had been rampant and he'd been very powerful - one of the most powerful spirits out there, even.

So how had he been reduced to this?

While spreading nightmares in Illinois, Pitch had been unlucky enough to run into some very angry Fall sprites who had not been very happy to see him. They'd chased him, and Pitch had only just barely managed to escape somewhere around Pennsylvania, and not without sustaining several searing burns (like Summer and Spring sprites, Fall sprites were very much capable of using heat or fire-imbued attacks, even if not to the same degree as those associated with a warmer season).

And now here Pitch lay, barely holding on to consciousness with burns making his body ache. A fever had set in, as Pitch had been stuck in the sun for several hours, and the sun was only just now starting to set.

Pitch wanted to scream, to yell and rave and rant, to go and show those Fall sprites the true meaning of fear, but he couldn't even gather enough strength to lift himself off the ground.

His vision was beginning to fade, Pitch mused absently, as colors began to blur and meld together. As his consciousness faded away, Pitch could've sworn he heard a muted voice speaking.

But that had to be impossible. No mortal ever saw him, and no immortal ever wished to talk to the Boogieman.

* * *

When Jack had found a grey-skinned man laying near the shore of his lake, he'd been, admittedly, confused. The man couldn't be a mortal, not with his oddly colored skin, yet Jack didn't recognize this spirit. He'd never met him before, not in the past two-hundred-and-sixty-two years.

At first, Jack didn't dare to stray near the man. The Wind seemed hesitant towards this unknown spirit, and Jack trusted the Wind enough to take its wariness to heart.

But as he crouched on a nearby tree branch, watching with curious blue eyes, he noticed that the man was hurt. He had bad, painful looking burns, and Jack couldn't help but grimace sympathetically. He'd had a few run ins with several other seasonals who had given him burns very similar to the ones the older looking spirit had.

As the grey-skinned man went completely limp, Jack dared to move over, jumping down from the tree he occupied and quietly sliding across his lake to stop by the shore where the man lay.

"Hey." Jack spoke hesitantly. "Are...Are you okay?"

There was no reply, and Jack frowned, stepping up until he was right beside the man. He knelt down on one knee, reaching forward with his free hand and brushing a hand over the man's brow. The young immortal grimaced as he felt the fever that was building there. Shifting to sit on both knees, Jack carefully sliding an arm behind the taller immortal's shoulders and lifting him up a bit.

"Ah man, this isn't good..." Jack lifted his head, looking up towards the sky. "Wind! Come help me out here!" The Wind seemed displeased with this as it blew by in a strong gust, trying to push Jack away. Jack frowned. "Quit it! C'mon, Wind, he's in bad shape here! We can't just leave him out here!"

Giving in, the Wind gently lifted Jack and the other immortal into the air.

"Thanks." Jack said, voice relieved. Clearly he'd thought the Wind might be uncooperative. "Can you take us to the cave West of here? That should be a good place to get this guy patched up."

As the Wind carefully took him and the strange new immortal towards their destination, Jack made sure to keep his arms wrapped around the man's upper half, so that they didn't get separated.

The cave wasn't far - only a mile or two from the lake, actually. The cave itself was rather large, and over the years Jack had been using it as a place to store his personal treasures, as it was in a place mortals couldn't reach easily, nestled up in the higher levels of a cliff face. Among his personal treasures were human medicines and medical supplies that Jack had found in dumpsters and such over the years.

Reaching the cave, the Wind gently set Jack and the other immortal down on the rocky floor of the cavern, and Jack, after carefully resting the man's shoulders and head on the ground, hurried off to gather any helpful medical supplies.

He really hoped that this wouldn't all backfire on him.

* * *

The first thing Pitch was aware of as he awoke was that he felt like he was on fire. The Nightmare King was keenly aware of the burns that made his skin ache, and he knew that the burning inside his body was a fever, and a horrid one at that.

And yet...He couldn't feel the uncomfortable heat of the sun any more. In fact, the ground at his back was cold, and the air around him chilly.

Pitch flinched when fingers, cold as ice and as gentle as a feather, softly brushed over his brow. Seeming to catch the slight movement Pitch made and hitch in his breath, the owner of the careful hand spoke.

"Shhh..." A youthful voice quietly hushed him, the gentle hand continuing to run over Pitch's forehead, spreading a chill that warded off the fever.

As much as he wished to move, to open his eyes and see who it was that had dared to take pity on him, Pitch couldn't. The fever had sapped him of any strength.

And so, as much as he loathed to admit it, Pitch was stuck letting this...Whoever this was, tend to his wounds and fever.

For a few long minutes, all the person did was lightly brush cold fingers over Pitch's brow, and Pitch had to admit it that it did wonders, chasing away the fever enough that he managed to clear his head and regain his ability to focus. The only thing that broke the silence was the young voice, softly shushing him before dissolving into an airy, tuneless humming.

Soon, the person moved away (and while he'd never admit it, Pitch wished for the cold fingers to return and shun away the heat of his fever), and Pitch could hear the shuffle of feet. Moments later, a something, an ointment of some sort, was being carefully applied to the burns that littered the Boogieman's body. While each touch at first made the burns sting, the ointment soon seemed to sap the pain and heat away, leaving the spirit feeling much improved. The entire time, Pitch's rescuer simply hummed, quietly apologizing whenever his touch disturbed a burn and made Pitch flinch.

Once done, the owner of the youthful voice bandaged Pitch up, then moved back to the Nightmare King's head and returned to running icy fingers across his fevered forehead. Now and then, Pitch could've sworn he felt an ice-cold pattern curl across his brow with a tickling sensation, like frost on a windowpane, before the sensation would quickly melt away.

Finally, Pitch gathered the strength and focus to open his eyes. For the first few seconds, the ancient spirit couldn't make out too much, with colors and shapes blurring into a mishmash of darkness with streaks of light. Though soon, his vision cleared.

It was quite dark, his surroundings only lit by faint rays of sunlight that were just barely peeking in. Pitch could see dark, stony walls all around and above him, a sign that he was in some sort of a cavern. Gaps in the rocky ceiling above allowed the little sunlight there was to stream in at an intensity low enough that it didn't cause Pitch any discomfort. In the dim light, Pitch could make out his rescuer.

Above him, an undoubtedly youthful face stared right back at him with eyes as blue as the sky. A shock of white hair stood at all angles, unkept. The boy's face was that of a teenager, only partially having lost the youthful roundness of a child's facial structure, and his skin was pale. From what Pitch could see, the youth wore one of those "hoodie" things that had recently come into style among the mortals of the world. The youth was undoubtedly an immortal. Only immortals could ever look so ancient yet timeless all at once, as this boy did.

At seeing the pair of somewhat dazed golden eyes staring up at him, the child, of all things, _smiled_.

The expression caught Pitch off-guard. In all his years as the Boogieman, he'd never been offered such a...a _kind_ expression. No one had ever been pleased to see the Nightmare King, no one ever dared to smile in his presence.

And yet here the child was, doing just that.

"Hey." The boy greeted, voice little more than a murmur, as if he didn't want to break the peaceful silence of the cave they were in. His voice was warm, and sounded like that of a sixteen-year-old. When Pitch didn't reply, the boy continued, "Its good to see you awake. I was starting to really worry."

Pitch silently looked the boy over, scrutinizing him. Did this little immortal have no sense? Did he not realize just who Pitch was? Was he being stupid or outlandishly courageous when he'd dragged Pitch here to tend to his burns? It had to be stupidity, Pitch decided. Even the bravest spirits wouldn't dare touch the Nightmare King, not unless it was to only cause harm.

Seeming to sense that Pitch wasn't going to reply, the boy continued to speak in a hushed tone.

"I found you by the lake. My lake, to be exact. It looks like you had a nasty run-in with some seasonals, huh? Probably Fall sprites, its that time of year, that they're all running around..." The young immortal ran frozen fingertips along Pitch's brow, and again there was a cold tickling sensation that ran along the man's forehead and down over his cheeks. "You're pretty lucky I found you. I just happen to have some experience when it comes to taking care of burns like these. Here, hold on, you must be pretty thirsty."

The cold hand left Pitch's forehead, and the youth stood, moving away. Pitch managed to turn his head to watch the young boy.

The teen padded over to where a mix of many different items where all neatly arranged on heavy, flat boulders. There was an old stuffed bear, a shiny copper pot, a moth-eaten quilt...

When the boy turned back to Pitch, he held a chipped plastic cup in his pale hands. And then, the white-haired spirit did something that stunned Pitch.

Raising a hand over the cup, the teen made a fist. He then opened his hand, and several small chunks of ice fell into the cup. He did it once more, then set the cup in one of the rays of sunlight that cascaded in so that the ice could melt.

A Winter Spirit...The boy was a _Winter Spirit_! No, _the_ Winter Spirit, Pitch corrected himself, there could only ever be one full-fledged spirit at a time when it came to seasons, while anyone else with seasonal powers were only sprites, less powerful than the seasonal spirits. Pitch couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen a winter seasonal, the sprites had faded from existence long ago, and were soon followed by the last Spirit of Winter. And that had been centuries ago! Just how long had this boy been around? Of course he'd heard the rumors of a Winter Spirit among other immortals, but he'd never thought the gossip was true...

The teen immortal moved back to Pitch's side, kneeling down.

"It'll take a few minutes for that to melt, but once it does you'll have some ice cold water to drink." He reassured. "Maybe then you'll be more talkative."

Pitch twitched when pale fingers touched his jaw, the brush of fingers sending a small burst of frost out spread out, cooling the older spirit's fevered cheeks, nose and forehead. Despite how Pitch hated it, the cold frost helped chase away the aching, uncomfortable warmth.

Silence fell for a few moments, the young Winter Spirit remaining beside Pitch and using gentle brushes of frost to keep down the fever Pitch was suffering. After a few minutes had passed, the youth went and retrieved the plastic cup, peering into it as he returned to Pitch.

"Looks like it melted pretty well." He commented, sitting on his knees. "Alright, up you get."

Setting aside the cup, the boy looped his arms around Pitch's shoulders, hefting him up into a sitting position. Once sure he had a good enough hold, the boy shifted so that he could support Pitch with an arm behind the grey immortal's back, and used his free hand to grab the cup. He held it to Pitch's lips, tipping it just enough to let the liquid slowly pour past the older immortal's lips.

Pitch drank the water greedily, feeling the itching ache in his throat fade ebb away. Once the cup was empty, the boy set it aside, gently laying Pitch back down. Pitch watched as the boy absently reached over to a wooden staff by his side, his touch causing frost to curl along it. A conduit of some sort, Pitch mused. With the roughness in his throat gone, Pitch finally managed to choke out a few words.

"Who...Who are you?"

The white-haired spirit paused, blinking owlishly, seeming taken aback. He pointed to himself with the hand that wasn't on his staff.

"Me?"

Pitch wanted to say 'of course you, you fool!', but he settled for frowning at the teen. The boy smiled crookedly.

"I'm Jack Frost." The boy, Jack, hesitated for a moment before gathering the courage to ask, "What's your name?"

Ah. That explained why the young seasonal sprit was helping him. He didn't realize just who Pitch was. Well, best rectify that situation, even if it would result in him being "kicked to the curb", as mortals would say.

"Pitch Black."

Jack's brow furrowed, expression becoming once of thought. Pitch waited for the boy to connect the dots, knowing the boy had to have heard of him somewhere. He hadn't fallen so drastically that he wasn't still a known name in the spirit world. A flash of realization soon passed through Jack's bright blue eyes.

"The Boogieman..."

"That's right." Pitch scowled. "Are you _scared_?"

Jack paused, looking Pitch over. He then shook his head.

"No."

Pitch blinked, taken aback. Frowning, the Nightmare King stretched out his senses, finding that the boy, indeed, was not afraid.

"You are a fool." Pitch muttered, turning his face back towards the ceiling of the cave, eyes sliding shut.

"Oh?" Jack laughed. "Why's that?"

Pitch dignified the imbecilic question with a glare, his golden eyes sharp.

"Because I can make you experience your worst nightmares with the flick of a wrist." He hissed. Jack's face became solemn.

"I don't mind nightmares."

Pitch nearly gaped at the blatant statement, but managed to instead twist his lips into a snarl.

"Oh? And why, pray-tell, is that?"

Jack shrugged, a small smile twisting at his thin, pale lips.

"People need a little fear. It helps keep people safe, and it makes them stronger."

Pitch remained silent, stunned by the boy's statement.

In all the centuries he'd been the King of Fear, Pitch had never seen anyone regard fear in any sort of positive way. No one ever saw just how fear could, in anyway, be useful and necessary. And yet here before him was someone, a mere _child_ in immortal terms, who saw the value of a little fear.

It was strange how the only one who understood this was probably the youngest spirit out there.

Pitch grimaced when he felt a nauseating wave of heat wash over him, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the aching warmth.

Pitch flinched as ice-cold fingers gently spread a dusting of frost across his forehead, and Jack gave a hiss of sympathy at the fever he felt at the man's cheek.

"I have some mortal medicine, but I know from experience that it won't do much for immortals like us. I think I can keep the fever down, though, if you're willing to stick around and don't mind me touching your face a bit to spread some frost..."

A silence fell for a few minutes, then Pitch finally sighed, eyes sliding shut.

"Do what you will."

There was a pause before Jack went back to spreading light coats of frost over Pitch's brow and cheeks.

For the rest of the evening and through the whole night, Jack tended to Pitch's wounds, and continued to slowly lower his fever. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that the fever finally broke, and Jack drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Jack awoke some time around noon, he was surprised to find he was all alone. The boy couldn't help but admit that he was disappointed, as it had been so long since he'd had any sort of company. Still, he supposed the man, with his antisocial attitude, was eager to leave as soon as possible.

"Could've at least said thanks." Jack muttered to himself, scratching the back of his neck as he stood, staff in his other hand. With a sigh, the boy went to put away the medical supplies he'd left out-

A yelp left the teen when he tripped over a...a _something_. Barely managing to catch himself, Jack looked down in bewilderment.

There, sitting innocently on the ground, was a small, pure black pendant. A note was beside it, scribbled on one of the pieces of scrap paper he kept in the cavern. Crouching down, Jack lifted the note, eyes flickering over the words.

 _*'While I loathe to admit it, you did me a favor, helping me as you did, and I hate owing debts. Should you ever require assistance, break this pendant, and I will come to your aid. Think of this as payment for your aid._

 _~Pitch Black'*_

Jack found himself smiling as he carefully lifted the pendant.

Sure, the man hadn't outright said 'thank you', but it was close enough.


End file.
